


made a right, cut the lights

by pinkmanite2 (Pinkmanite)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftermath, Established Relationship, M/M, Reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/pinkmanite2
Summary: It’s fucking stupid, is what it is.





	made a right, cut the lights

**Author's Note:**

> reaction to leafs(1) @ bruins(4) on 2019/04/13 (playoffs 2019, round 1, game 2, 1-1)

It’s fucking stupid, is what it is.

Fuck the refs, fuck Boston, fuck the whole damn league. Fuck —

“Calm down.”

The words don’t help, Naz feels all of his emotions flare up immediately, all at once. It’s like a roiling boil set too high and left on the stove, forgotten, burning bubbles overflowing over the edge until they sizzle into the flames in a terrible mess. That’s exactly how it feels, shooting up from the weight toiling in his chest. He’s grasping, grasping, but he can’t find the fucking stove dial.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

“Calm  _ the fuck _ down,” Willy says again, harder this time. He shoves a hand flat against Naz’s chest, sends him stumbling back just a few steps. It’s not a total off button, but it shakes up the feeling in his chest, makes him stop to catch his breath. Startles him out of the loop in his head, maybe. 

Naz doesn’t necessarily chill, not even a little, but he gets his grasp on himself again, at least enough to control himself, to refrain from acting out further. He takes a deep breath, holds the rage back, lets it collect in his chest. He crosses his arms and looks to Willy, expectant.

Willy probably hadn’t thought this far ahead, because he runs a hand through his hair, blows air out through his mouth, frustrated while he thinks on the spot. “Look, the only way we can go is forward.”

But Naz cuts him off. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Willy says gentler now, steps closer, “I know it’s not fair.”

Naz lets him get closer, lets him put a hand on his arm and guide him until they’re sitting side by side, until Willy can press their thighs together, tap a toe against his. Willy doesn’t say anything else, just rubs a hand over his knee, leans his head against his shoulder. Eventually, it’s enough to get through to him. Naz lets out a breath, heavy, feels a lot of the bad stuff leave with it. Not all of it, but he feels a little less like he’s going to implode right there on the spot.

“I’m just so fucking sick and tired of this shit,” he says, quiet.

“That’s so valid,” Willy sighs, squeezes where he’s stopped over his knee. “We’ll get through this, we will.”

“They’re going to tear me a new one,” Naz groans, runs his hands over his face. He knows that he doesn’t need to specify who, knows that Willy gets it. Babs, management, the media, the internet. His mom, too, probably, can’t count her out. Hell, Willy’s mom, too, while they’re at it.

But at least he knows the last two will pat him on head after because they’ll understand why, they’ll have seen the game, seen the way his team was thrown around, and they’ll know him well enough to know what he was thinking. To know that he acted with his heart, not necessarily his head, and in a place to protect the people that he loves. Moms know stuff like that.

Everyone else? Not so much.

“I’m going to be guillotined at the stake,” he says, the more he thinks about it. He hangs his head in his hands. 

Willy scoffs, mirthless, from next to him. He feels a hand on his back, the presence of it in itself inherently soothing. “That’s not quite how that saying goes.”

Naz lifts his head enough to send him a look, rolls his eyes. “Really? That’s the important part?” 

Willy shrugs, “English isn’t my first language but even I know that.” He’s grinning, and it’s maybe not as natural as normal, but it’s refreshing, the teasing in his voice, the lightness of it. Naz clings to it, even before he realizes that he does.

He manages a smile, just a little at the corner of his mouth. “You’d cut me down though, right?”

“Neither guillotines nor stakes require you to be cut down,” Willy makes a face. “Well make like, cut out? Cut free? I don’t know, but I’d do it, whatever it is.”

Naz swallows. He lets Willy take his hand, lets him intertwine their fingers. “Then put me on trial, I can take it. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

Willy leans on him for real now, he can probably hear his heartbeat, can probably physically feel the adrenaline slowly drain out of Naz’s body, gradually relaxing his muscles and slowing his breath in a painfully long ritardando. But it’s kind of comforting, knowing that Willy’s there with him, going through this part with him. 

“I don’t want you to have to keep taking it, though,” Willy finally admits, barely a whisper. The concern in his voice is so out of place, so unfamiliar in his tone. Naz hates it, hates that he indirectly put it there. But before he can say so, Willy keeps going. “I know it’s not fair, babe, but sometimes you just have to weigh out all the evils and decide that sometimes the best thing is just to play by their rules.”

And although Naz has started to cool off, he hasn’t completely boiled down, the build up of every stupid call (or lack of), every stupid comment on the ice and off, every stupid hit, and every stupid word he’s heard said about him a million times that he’s anticipating to be said again… all of that is one hell of a build up, and even Willy and his touch can’t melt it away just like that. 

“You can’t expect me to just stand there and let that shit happen when I can do something about it — ”

“But you can’t, Naz, you can’t do  _ anything _ about it. That’s just how it is!” Willy’s hand is back in his hair, he starts to bounce his leg, doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. 

Naz groans. “And you just want me to accept that? Me? Do you even know me?”

Willy frowns then, shoves at him some more. “Fuck you, you know I know you better than anyone else so you know that I’m the only person who’s trying to get  _ through _ to you, don’t you get that?”

“It’s not your fucking job,” Naz tries for hard, but it’s more put out than anything.

Willy doesn’t let up, though. “I’m the only fucking person who’s trying to save you from your goddamn self. It’s not about fair or not fair or what the fuck ever. It’s about  _ survival _ because like it or not, you’re the one with the laser on your head and sometimes you just have to fucking duck when no one else has to. Don’t you get it?”

And there’s something there, something in Willy’s tone. Desperation, frustration, and, and. Concern, but more than that. So much more than that. Naz knows what it is. He doesn’t want to think about it, he shoves that away. He doesn’t say anything but he bows his head again.

“Look,” Willy says, soft again, but just as charged. “I want to play amazing, beautiful hockey with you for a whole lot of years, and there’s only one way to make sure that happens.” But then Willy starts to get up and Naz glances at him, not expecting that. His eyes are screwed shut and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s probably one of his cluster headaches, probably triggered by all of whatever this is. For the second time, Naz feels a little guilty for indirectly affecting Willy.

“Willy,” Naz starts, but stops when Willy holds up a hand to shush him.

“I’m going to go pop some Advil,” Willy finally says when he’s ready. He looks then, levels Naz with a serious look. “I meant it when I said that there’s nothing to do but move forward. But I need you to actually calm down and think long and hard about what that means.” He pauses, considers. “What that means in the context of us being able to play together for a long time. That’s what I mean. Okay?”

Naz knows they’ll call him selfish, knows the implication here is that he’s selfish, but he knows what Willy’s really asking of him. Knows that Willy’s asking him to do exactly that. To stop thinking about protecting the team and to start thinking about protecting himself, protecting  _ them. _ It’s a lot, hanging there in a new a frame for Naz to stare at and reevaluate. 

Willy sighs, gives him one last look, softer now. He reaches out, squeezes Naz’s shoulder while he worries his lip, doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Naz knows it’s all worry, all, all. Okay, all  _ love _ , and that’s too much to think about but entirely everything he needs to think about.

There’s a voice from outside the trainer’s room. “William? You ready for media?”

Naz watches him take a deep breath, blow it out through his nose. “Coming,” Willy calls back, heading for the door.

Just as he’s about to push it open, he locks eyes with Naz, nods once.

“We’ll get through, this, okay. No matter what. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

And then he goes, leaving Naz to his homework and a whole lot to think about. 

**Author's Note:**

> anon for now because I don't know how this is going to be received, especially after that mess of a game from every side. and like there is a lot of subtext and a lot of things that I yelled about elsewhere but that isn't what this fic is for so don't dig too deep. I didn't watch postgame because I was upset so there's probably inaccuracies on what happened after game. honestly this was for me to deal with my emotions about this game so, I dunno, hope it did something for you, too.


End file.
